


A Suitable Arrangement

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, F/M, Romance, Ron Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Friends with benefits? Our understanding." Hermione caught her fingers in her tangled hair and frowned. "No. That sounds complicated. Our… suitable arrangement? How about that?" </p>
<p>SS/HG HEA...Always :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Hermione Granger collapsed back into the haphazard pile of pillows and blew a sweat-dampened strand of hair from her eyes. Her heart hammered, the final echoes of her orgasm spiralling through her sated flesh. She was still shaking… Fuck, the man knew  _exactly_  what he was doing. As if she could ever doubt it. Oh, this had been an absolutely excellent idea. Her best yet.

She slid a glance to the wizard who'd sunk to the other half of her bed. Long fingered hands scrubbed at his face, his breathing still laboured. "Fuck, Granger…"

Hermione snorted. "You just did."

He pulled his hands away from his face and obsidian eyes fixed on her, cool and firm. He lifted a dark eyebrow. "I noticed."

She grinned at him. Nothing could dim her…exuberance. Not at that moment. "I said we'd be good. So…?" She rolled onto her side and propped her head up. Her muscles –every single one of them— were deliciously tired and aching in a way they hadn't for too long. "Is this a good plan? You and me, Severus. Fuck buddies."

He winced. "I would prefer you couch it in more…genteel terms."

"Friends with benefits? Our understanding." Hermione caught her fingers in her tangled hair and frowned. "No. That sounds complicated. Our… suitable arrangement? How about that?" She traced a finger over the hard curve of his bicep —she'd never before truly appreciated how  _toned_  Severus Snape was— and goosebumps followed on his skin in her wake. "Honestly, this makes so much sense."

Dark eyes held her. Ones she couldn't read. Not even when he came, groaning her name as if it were torn from him.

"Just sex?"

She nodded. "We go on as before. Friends. Occasional bickering colleagues." She flopped back into her pillows and stared up at the smooth white of her bedroom ceiling. "After the disaster with Ron. Bastard. And then the plethora of glory hunters wanting an Hermione-shaped notch on their bedpost, as if I'm to be collected like a Chocolate Frog Card…" She growled and pushed down the old anger. "That's not you. I trust you, Severus." She smiled at him and found his unfathomable eyes still fixed on her. She shrugged, glad that the flush of her climax was still hot on her skin to hide her nerves. "You won't run off with a kiss-and-tell exposé to  _The Daily Prophet_."

She pressed her lips together to deny more rambling. Why wasn't he  _saying_  anything?

The first chill rippled over her damp skin and she shivered. Scrambling up, she tugged at the rumpled and discarded sheets and blankets. She glanced back at him. Firelight danced over his alabaster skin, catching on the silvering of too many scars. She'd kissed most of them. The one on his right hip was a special favourite because he'd arched under her and moaned as if she'd given him Christmas.

"Of course, it's not as important to you.  _The Prophet_  doesn't hound you. Well, not any more. And the old double standard of a witch spilling your sexual secrets wouldn't do your reputation or career any harm." A wry smile tugged at her mouth. "And I  _miss_  sex." Her smile grew to a smirk. "Especially wild, toe-curling sex."

"Would it be exclusive?"

Something twisted in her belly, an old ache that she couldn't dwell on. Could she ask that of him? Infidelity had ripped a hole through her. But they wouldn't be a couple… "I'm not looking any further."

She fell back into her bed, dragging her sheets with her. The cool cotton soon warmed against her skin. "I can do friends. I can't do 'relationships'." She air-quoted the word. "I need my time away from others. I'm not social. I don't want the insanity that being famous brings. And that won't change. Anyone I'm with thinks it should.

"So, if you agree, we're old friends and we have staggeringly good times in my bed. Or yours, if you prefer."

She couldn't say more. And she  _didn't_  want to expound on his relationship nightmares. It had been three years since the end of the war, and covens of witches still trailed after their 'Dark Prince' intent to heal his shattered heart.

Severus wound a curling length of her hair around his finger, his expression oddly thoughtful. "The use of each other as an…accomplice at those interminable Ministry events continues. Certain witches are becoming persistent. And there's a function this Saturday. If a hint of this  _suitable arrangement_  can spill over to deter them…?"

Hermione grinned at him. "Done. I will be subtle."

He lifted an eyebrow. "That I have yet to see."

"And then we can leave together to get thoroughly naked. Rather than returning home to a cat and hot chocolate."

His mouth twitched upwards. "I have no cat." He released the strand of hair and watched it spring back. " _The Prophet_  will begin to speculate on an us."

Hermione huffed. "They can speculate all they want. We will be seen out as we always are, through the Ministry and work. There'll be no cosy dinners or appearing arm-in-arm in Diagon Alley."

She shuddered. Ron had insisted on that in the early days of their relationship. He'd grinned like a baboon when the flare and smoke of flash-bulbs caught them forever for the front page of every newspaper in the wizarding world. He had them  _seen_  as a couple everywhere.

She'd put up with it…until she realised his eye was starting to wander to prettier witches. Then it was more than his eye. And after she'd finished with him it was a good  _long_  while before  _that_  could wander again.

"So do we have a deal, Severus?"

His smile was dark. "We do."

He eased back the sheets to expose her bare skin to the chilled air. A slow finger teased around her peaked nipple and she bit back a quick gasp. It hadn't been a false memory, her building a fantasy around her first time. Severus Snape really could stoke fire in her flesh with his slightest touch.

They'd walked away easily from each other three years before. No entanglements. No regrets. Yet another victory party at Grimmauld Place that led unexpectedly to a simply joyous weekend of him giving her a very  _thorough_  introduction to sex.

His hot mouth closed over her nipple and Hermione groaned.

Yes, a suitable arrangement with Severus Snape. Her absolutely best idea. Ever.

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Severus Snape peered into the pewter cauldron and gave the bubbling, silver-sheened liquid another three counter-clockwise stirs. The sheen faded, dropping to exact same dull silver-grey of the cauldron that held it. He pursed his lips, counting the seconds…  _Yes_. The satisfaction was almost a growl in his thoughts.

He smirked and scribbled an addendum on an ancient and stained piece of parchment.

The soft hoot of an owl brought his gaze up from his experimentation. Granger's owl –a brown speckled mess of a bird that looked as suspiciously ragged as her orange monster of a cat— battered her wings against his laboratory's single narrow window.

Severus grunted and swung open the metal edged pane on its pivot. The owl –Murgatroyd— bustled in and perched on the high back of a nearby stool. She offered her leg with another hoot.

She was a strange beast. Granger said she'd appeared at the Burrow one summer's day, wet, bedraggled and barely alive, obviously hunting out a residence with a magical signature in which to collapse. The owl had flapped and screeched at any Weasley that came within three feet of her –sensible creature— letting only Granger care for her. And so the soft-hearted Gryffindor acquired another stray.

Severus smirked as he untied the note and offered one of the fishy owl treats the bird favoured. Murgatroyd had taken a chunk out of Ron Weasley the first chance she got. She really was a clever owl.

With a rub of her wild-feathered head against his knuckles in appreciation of the treat, she flapped and tottered out of the window before she took off into the grey bleakness of a moorland sky.

Severus unrolled the note. Granger's cramped hand filled the sliver of parchment. He winced. She never seemed able to break her old school habit of fitting as many words into the smallest square.

_Severus_

_I hope your hunt goes well. Though why you're experimenting with a useless potion that is sixteen hundred years old and already surpassed by a number of modern concoctions is beyond me…_

_No doubt it is something about which we can argue tonight._

_Did I mention that this is your reminder to get your delicious backside out of your laboratory and into a decent set of robes?_

_I'll meet you in the Ministry Atrium at 7._

_Yours, by suitable arrangement,_

_Hermione_

Severus huffed out a laugh. Impertinent chit.

It had been three days since she'd cornered him in the ministry laboratory where she worked as a researcher, and offered him dinner. And the hint that she had a proposal he would find interesting.

He'd almost choked on his chocolate mousse when she'd suggested no-strings sex. Then proceeded to unbutton her blouse…

Severus drew in a breath, pinched the bridge of his nose and denied the stirring of his dick. Again.

Of course, he hadn't said no. As if he would turn down a brilliant young woman who wanted his body. He had to be careful in his liaisons. But he wasn't insane. Too many had their attention fixed on 'healing' him. Their 'Dark and Lonely Prince'. It really was enough to make him gag.

The arrangement with Granger did make sense. He got on with her. Most of the time –though she could argue herself blue if she thought she was right. She was logical, like him. So very bad at relationships,  _exactly_  like him. They were friends, had been since he'd taken her virginity.

Severus winced. He'd thought one of the Weasleys would've got there long before him. It'd been five months after the war had ended, after all. Were they  _blind_? A delicious young woman, bursting into adulthood, so ready to dive into her ignored sexuality. Curious. Passionate. Amazing.

But even being her first wasn't awkward. They'd slipped into a nicely caustic friendship and had bumped along together ever since. They worked in similar fields too. He as an independent Master Potioneer. She as a potion researcher for the Ministry.

And the sex had been as he remembered it. No.  _Better_. Which was a fair challenge, because that weekend in a locked, warded and silencio'd room had rated as the best sex in his life up to that point.

His mouth twitched. It was still in the top five. Possibly the top three.

He cast a stasis charm over his cauldron and set about cleaning his workspaces. He had time to wash, change and appear suitably attired. The usual sour burn in his gut was absent at the thought of that night's event. Which was surprising. Did he really think that with Granger hanging off his arm –with the obvious implication that they were now more than friends— it would put off his pursuing harpies?

It was one of the trials of receiving the Order of Merlin. If he wanted to keep his rather substantial stipend, he –and the others so honoured— had to trot out at one event after another.

He cast a professional eye over the long, narrow laboratory, lit by the single window and a host of lamps. Clean and ready for the next stage of his useless potion.

His mouth thinned. Granger had no fear of him any more. He smirked. It was disgraceful.

Severus climbed the narrow stairs up from his cellar, his fingers tracing the grain in the oak handrail. He lived free and clear in what appeared to others –wizard and muggle alike— to be a ramshackle ruin of a cottage on the edge of the Yorkshire moors. Few knew of his whereabouts and he was happy to keep it that way.

An hour later, he was shaved, showered and closing the buttons on his finer dress robes. Since Granger had agreed to be his partner in crime at the thrice-damned functions –going on eight months now— he made that little bit more of an effort. If Granger could wrestle her gorgonesque mane into something manageable, then he could look presentable.

Severus frowned into the mirror and his ugly mug stared back at him. Gilded in golden lamplight, he looked healthier. But then that was hardly difficult. At the end of the war, he'd been little more than a walking corpse.

Potions and good food had filled him out and he was fitter, stood taller, straighter. His newly tailored clothes hung well. He'd reset his nose, hopefully for the last time, and Granger –ever the daughter of dentists— had fixed his teeth.

Not having to work a daily eight hours or more in a dungeon classroom packed with steaming cauldrons and poor ventilation had left his skin and hair in better condition too. He pushed a long lock behind his ear. Post coitus, Granger had spent an inordinate amount of time fiddling with it…but then –if he were being honest with himself— her riot of hair fascinated him too.

And at the end of the night, they would both indulge their...mutual interests.

Severus let out a long breath and tucked his wand into his sleeve. He wasn't filled with his usually bitter need to bury himself back in his cellar laboratory. Something else turned in his gut and filled his thoughts.

The image of Granger, her wild hair free, spread across white sheets, completely naked, with those sweet, pink little nipples that begged for his mouth. Just waiting. Waiting for no one else but  _him_...

That feeling? It was something he hadn't experienced in a long time. It felt suspiciously like anticipation.

 


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Hermione stopped herself from tugging at the front of her robes. They dipped too low. She didn't have much of a cleavage, but what she did have didn't need to be on display. And it was, from the furtive glance of more than one passing wizard. Fuck. She'd been aiming for subtle. But as Severus himself would say, she was always as subtle as a bludger to the face.

Another look. This wrinkly old wizard practically ogled.

Damn it. She shimmied and tugged, drawing the boned front of her red, velvet gown another inch over her chest.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing?"

She squeaked and turned, staring up at Severus as he loomed out of the shadows of the Atrium. "Why do you insist on creeping up on me?"

"I'm a spy—"

"Ex-spy."

"And because you fall for it, every time. You need to be more aware of your situation." He narrowed his gaze on her practically inappropriate gown. "Your reasoning?"

Heat suffused her face and no doubt followed her neck to dip across her exposed chest. She certainly felt hot enough. She pursed her lips and wrapped a  _muffliato_  around them, creating a hissing bubble protecting them from the growing throngs.

"We are supposed to be 'more than friends'." She air-quoted with her free hand and Severus frowned at her. "I thought to make that plain."

"I enjoy breasts as much as the next wizard, Granger." Something lit his dark eyes, a heat that twisted an echo deep within in her flesh. "And I enjoy yours in particular. However," he leaned back from her and she was surprised that he'd been so close, "this…display is unnecessary."

She huffed. "I've seen your type, Severus Snape."

"My type?"

His voice was cool silk and she hurried on. She didn't want to fall out with him over this. Her body had been thrumming for three solid days. And she was  _guaranteed_  a rather excellent fuck that night. "I went over back issues of  _The Prophet_. Every single woman caught on camera with you was dressed like this."

And her chest had been tight as she forced herself to flick through image after image the day before. Severus had certainly been busy after he'd left her bed in Grimmauld Place. Unexpectedly so.  _Very_  busy. She'd told herself it was his due. If he wanted to take up with every woman who offered –and from the archival evidence, he  _had_ — then that was his business. His right. Because he was free. But did they all have to be so beautiful? And red haired?

It had been a single photograph that had pushed her into offering their new arrangement. Four days before. Him caught by a  _Prophet_  photographer with surprisingly  _not_  another redhead on his arm. His latest date had been young, brown haired and about her height…but his expression had drained something from Hermione. Her hands trembling, she'd dropped the newspaper into her lunchtime soup.

A sudden ice had thickened in her veins. His smile. She'd never seen him smile at anyone else but her like that. Warm with that hot hint of wickedness. It was  _her_  smile.  _Hers_. Reserved solely for  _her_. And there he was giving it to someone else…

Before she knew exactly what she was doing, she was inviting him to dinner…and offering sex. But it was all right, it didn't  _mean_  anything. It was no strings and well, it  _had_  been a long time…

Severus took her arm, guiding her away from a sudden surging knot of wizards, snapping her thoughts back to him. His touched burned through the velvet and her breath hitched. She didn't doubt he got an excellent view of her breasts in that moment. It was there in the half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Their slavery to fashion, I believe. Not my taste." A flick of his wand, readjusted the boned corset, offering a mere peek of cleavage. "This is preferred."

Hermione let out a slow breath and relieved that she didn't have to worry about her breasts unexpectedly breaking free. "Thank you."

He leaned in again and her pulse soared. His familiar scent, cedar mixed with myriad spices and herbs danced across her senses. Had he always smelt so good? "The red velvet can stay."

"You prefer red?" Hermione held down a curse. Of course he did. How many red heads had be slunk off with in the last three years?

"On you? Yes." His smile was arch and he eased back to offer his black-clad arm. He finite'd her obscuring spell. "Come, we must parade ourselves like the circus freaks we are."

Hermione snorted. "Speak for yourself."

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, the warmth of his body sending a delicious little tingle under her skin. So what if he preferred red? In hair or clothes. Everyone in the wizarding world knew why. Not that she was playing on his devotion to Lily Evans. Not at all. She fought to calm her thoughts. Nerves and anticipation. That's all this uncertainty was.

Lily Evans was also a subject they never brought up. Not once. Severus Snape was a private man and his feelings –his heart— were locked up tighter than a Gringotts' vault. She had little doubt it was as equally impregnable.

Which –she told herself— was the exact reason she'd made the arrangement with him. His heart was already long taken. And hers? Well, hers was fairly useless. It never felt much in the way of love, not  _that_  kind of love, not for anyone.

"What was this event in aid of again?" Severus' mouth brushed against the shell of her ear and she shivered. The bastard had the gall to grin. "Feeling…tense, are we?"

She glared up at him. "I go from nothing for two years to a feast. Is it my fault I'm hungry again?"

"Two years? Granger, that's a  _crime_."

They stopped in the snaking queue of brightly clothed witches and wizards waiting for entry into the banqueting hall. Each guest had to be announced. It was beyond tedious. And already they were on the receiving end of not so covert glances. Even three years on, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape were two people the wizarding world found far too much interest in.

"Double standards, remember," she murmured, though the chatter of the surrounding people was loud, echoing over the glossy tiled walls. "You could happily run off with anyone you wished. Any man I showed the remotest interest in was already halfway to flooing Rita Skeeter."

His fingertips slipped over her knuckles to draw a slow line down the back of her hand. "Ronald Weasley is a shit. You should let me hex him."

She frowned up at him. Golden light limned his stark features, his curtain of shining hair gleaming. Wickedness danced in his eyes and her belly did a strange little flip-flop. Her attraction to him was nothing new. It was another reason to suggest their arrangement, after all. So why did this feel different? "Yes, Ron made me less…trusting, but still… Something about them was always wrong. Off."

"All men are dicks. Is that suitably supportive?"

Hermione grinned. "It is, yes. Thank you, Severus."

They shuffled forward and Severus glared at an over-glamoured, red haired witch who offered him a sharp little smirk. Hermione's stomach turned over. She hadn't asked for exclusivity, couldn't. She couldn't tie him to her. This was a mutually satisfying arrangement. Nothing more. She had no claim on him.

Still, Hermione felt immeasurably better at his snub. So much so, that she pressed up against him, wrapping her other hand around his arm.

He glanced down at her. "Are you making yourself quite comfortable, madam?"

She batted her eyelashes. "Miss. And yes,  _very_  comfortable."

"Subtle, my arse," he muttered under his breath.

Hermione broke into laughter.

 


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Severus frowned at the banners swathing the entrance to the hall. "Ministries United: an International Cooperation and Goodwill event? Circe's left tit. No amount of galleons is worth this."

"Look at this way, you can spread your curmudgeonly ways beyond the borders of Britain." She smirked at him, enjoying the flash of annoyance in his dark eyes. "Severus Snape: a global offence."

A bark of laughter burst from him and more than one wizard turned to stare at them. His familiar scowl had every gaze snapping away again. "Ambitious." He stepped beneath the great arch, only one couple ahead of them. "But achievable. I am, after all, me."

The herald, a wizened little old man with whom they were all too familiar, looked up at them with a smile.

"Busy evening tonight, Herbert," Hermione said, glancing over the endless hall packed with circular tables groaning with golden cutlery, ornaments and flowers. Floating candles bobbed in the thickly scented air. Already, witches and wizard brought the noise level in the cavernous place up to a hard wince. "How's your grandson?"

"Good, good, that potion worked a treat." His voice was rounded and deep, a surprise hidden in his thin little frame. "Enjoy your evening." His blue eyes sparkled. "As you always do."

Severus huffed a laugh. "Thank you."

A  _sonorous_  charm lifted the old man's voice. "Miss Hermione Granger and Master Severus Snape."

The solid wedge of chatter faded for a moment and Hermione hated the stares of too many eyes for that stretched second, before reality snapped back again.

"Grow impossibly rich, Severus," she murmured as they made their way down the wide, carpeted stairs to the hall floor. "Then we don't have to turn up here ever again."

He lifted an imperious eyebrow. "We?"

"I'm your friend. You'll lend me enough money to break free of the Ministry."

"But you love the Ministry."

"If you start quoting  _1984_  at me again, I  _will_  hex you."

Severus' mouth twitched. "You have to admit, I did have the Winston Smith look there for a while."

"True." He glared down at her. "What? I'm not supposed to agree?" She ran her index finger over the distinct curve of his bicep, the steel-strength of it obvious beneath the soft layers of wool and cotton. "Not now though. Now you're…delicious."

The sudden and unexpected heat in his gaze caught her breath and the urge, the  _ache_  to stretch up on her toes and kiss him burned through her. No strings. She could do it now. Her pulse hammered, her fingers biting into his arm. Her lips parted almost without her permission and his gaze fixed there—

"Hermione, Severus, shit, I lost the bet."

Draco Malfoy, resplendent in a hideously expensive bespoke Italian suit swept though the milling crowd. His grey eyes narrowed and a pale blond eyebrow lifted in an eerie echo of his godfather. "Did I interrupt?"

"A bet, Draco?"

Severus' voice was smooth, unruffled, the familiar silken drawl. She really did envy that about him, his ability to take anything in his stride. Though how he had earned that skill was not to be wished for. Not ever.

"Whether Hermione –and therefore you— would turn up."

Hermione pressed her lips together. Neither she nor Severus were wealthy. Not like Draco or Harry, who had enough galleons between them to sink a small country. They could pick and choose which events to attend, the Ministry unable to hold anything over them. No doubt Draco had dragged Harry along because of the business opportunities this event would present Malfoy Enterprises.

"We do not have your…advantages," Severus murmured.

A faint hint of pink topped Draco's sharp cheekbones. "You're on our table." He waved an arm out to the side. "Which is a relief. With the Ministers from Ireland and France and I think, Belgium. Plus other vastly important personages, of whom I have never heard."

Hermione couldn't help her smile. She liked the Draco who had emerged after the horrors of war. Endlessly elegant and finally able to be the man he truly was. The man who'd wanted Harry Potter in the most desperate way for too many years. And not long after Voldemort was little more than a grease stain, Draco caught him. Light flashed across the simple gold band on his left hand. Caught him forever.

"Harry is holding court and I promised I wouldn't abandon him for long. This way."

Draco pushed back into the slow tide of people hunting for their own tables. Severus took her hand and pulled her after him. This was also a familiar ritual. At least they had Harry and Draco for the next few hours.

Hermione held down a groan as she spied Harry. Their table was already full, the only two vacant chairs being hers and Severus'…and every important personage was male.  _Fuck_. She hated being the only woman. Either she was talked over, ignored or patronised. Or a combination thereof. Oh and felt up.  _Fuckity fuck_.

" _Repello tactio_ ," Severus murmured and his magic caressed every inch of her, causing a little shiver to ripple. "The Minister for Belgium is known for his wandering hands."

"I do know that spell. And use it often."

Severus pulled out her chair and she sat. His mouth brushed against her ear and a velvet whisper warmed her flesh. "You do. But this way  _I_  can still touch you."

"You're an evil man."

She felt his smile, before he dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. "You're only just noticing?"

Hermione caught Harry's startled look and heat flushed across her face. Severus had planted a kiss on her skin, which declared to that table,  _and_  the ones circling, that she was with him. Intimately. At least the Minister for Belgium seemed to be leaning away from her now. Obviously Severus' reputation had already crossed the Channel.

Severus sat four places away, a touch of a dark smile still lingering on his mouth. His dinner companions paled somewhat. Yes, she wouldn't trust that look on his face either. Wicked man.

Harry was still staring at her. She couldn't help the soft laughter that escaped. "Breathe, Harry." She mouthed the words as he was too far away for easy conversation. "Blink, too."

"Details." Harry practically bit out the word.

Her "Later" got a frown and another narrowed look.

Hermione had never shared her first experience with Severus with any of her friends. All that they knew was that she was taken ill during the party and locked herself away miserably in her room for two days. It was very telling that no one seemed to notice that a certain Potions Master had gone missing too.

She held back a sigh. Well, she'd known it'd be an interesting conversation she'd have to have with Harry that night.

* * *

"Snape?"

Harry grabbed her arm and hissed as Severus' spell fired across his palm. He swore and flexed his fingers. "Damn it, Hermione, take off the  _tactio_."

"No." She lifted her goblet of ridiculously expensive wine and toasted him. Settling herself again in her chair she tilted her head, her lips pressed. "I don't appreciate being grabbed."

Harry flushed and settled himself in the Belgian Minister's vacant chair. The meal was over and people milled about. Soon they'd clear away most of the tables to allow the dancing to start. At that point, she intended to cling to Severus like Devil's Snare.

Her friend leaned forward. His hands were gripped in a bloodless knot over his knees. " _Snape?_ "

She shrugged. "Severus and I have been friends for a long time now…"

"But you're…" The words faltered. "You're…"

"Playing hide the wand?"

He winced. "Hermione…"

She smirked at him. "How about, "He's stirring his  _big_   _bad_   _rod_  in my  _sweet_  little cauldron', or—"

"Stop!" Harry lifted his hands in surrender. "Merlin's sake, I've just eaten."

"Now you know how I feel when you just  _have_  to share how Draco does whatever he does with his tongue." She shuddered and took a sip of wine to wipe out yet more images of Harry and Draco's sex life. "You're like a brother to me. I  _do not_  want to know."

"But…"

Harry glanced over to Severus who was caught up in a heated conversation with a bald and wrinkled Hungarian Potion Master. Severus' skin was flushed and whatever their discussion was, it had him enthralled. Would Hermione be able to drag him off tonight? From the way Severus was looking so eager, it seemed as if the little nonagenarian would be the one to get lucky.

She focused on Harry again and decided to answer all his unasked questions. "A few days. No strings. We're friends. It will not get," she waved her hand, "strange."

"It's…" He huffed, still unable to say the word sex when applied to her. "Of course it will."

Her smirk deepened and she dropped the Exploding Fluid in the Size Two. "Didn't before."

Harry choked. "You…" She conjured him a glass of water and he sipped, taking deep breaths. He stared at her. " _Before_?"

Hermione shrugged. "So… It will be fine. And honestly, it's made this night better already. I've not had to fight off wandering hands. I got to enjoy the food, because everyone was too terrified to talk to me. And I made you speechless."

He laughed and caught his fingers in his dark, messy hair. "You're braver than me."

"O-oh." She leant forward, mere inches from him. Candlelight gleamed against his glasses. "Do tell, Mr Potter. Did you have a crush?"

"No!" He shuddered and pinched his eyes shut. "No. And now you have me imagining Professor Snape naked in the dungeons. No. Just no." He growled and glared at her. "Stop. Stop with the whole s-e-x thing. Now. It's not right."

Laughter rocked her. "Merlin, Harry, you're a happily married man and you still can't say sex to me?"

"When it's you and…" He shuddered again. "All right, here's what I wanted to tell you tonight, before you bludgered me. And I suppose your new…thing ties in. Ron is single again."

"Shit."

Hermione sank back into her chair and took a sip of her wine all humour washed away. She let the sweet berry taste distract her, pulling apart the individual flavours on her tongue. That was Draco's bet: had she known Ron's new status would she turn up? Not that she had any choice. Fuck.

A single Ron meant a Ron who thought they should try again. As if she would. The bastard had cheated on her Merlin knew how many times in her own bloody bed. Her stomach soured. She knew of nine.

"When did he break up?"

Harry let out a long breath. "He got dumped yesterday afternoon. He owled Dean to ask if you were coming tonight."

Dean worked in the laboratory a few sections down from hers and they'd sometimes meet for coffee in the staff annex. He was often Ron's best contact on her movements. Though Dean could tell him very little, if anything. She and Dean were not that close, after all.

"He said he didn't know. As usual. A parliament of owls later, and I found all of this out just before we were due to apparate here. Sorry we couldn't warn you earlier."

"Ron knows what position I'm in. Just like him, I have to come to these things." Was he owling the world in the hope of convincing some of their friends to support him? Very probably. Little shit. "Well, he could be distracted by the plethora of foreign witches here. He can play the professional quidditch star and suave war hero." She snorted. "And they wouldn't know any better."

Harry hissed. "Sharp."

She shrugged. "He still manages to bring out the bitch in me. Can't imagine why."

A ministry official stepped up to their chairs and coughed, sharply, behind his fist. Dark eyes narrowed on her and his lips firmed into an even thinner line.

Hermione's shoulder's slumped. She was monopolising Harry. If she had any money she could happily tell the little quill-pusher to fuck off. But she didn't. So she couldn't. Damn.

She stood, the chair legs scraping back across the floor. "Later, Harry. I must…mingle. We'll do dinner?"

"Have fun."

She stuck her tongue out at him. She was under the eye of the Ministry, so she couldn't simply hang out with some of her friends. As a war hero her twice-over employers paid her to be  _available_  to those who had happily avoided all danger. She was their vicarious thrill.

With her drink in hand, she edged past the nasty little ministry wizard. She ignored his exasperated huff, giving him a tight, socially sharp smile, as she rounded the table to lightly stroke Severus' sleeve.

His attention snapped to her, a hex no doubt already burning his lips. Tension ebbed from him. "Granger. Allow me to introduce you to Master Gedeon Molnar. Master Molnar this is Miss Hermione Granger."

Molnar gave her a clipped bow, the sureness and strength at odds with his wizened frame. "Honoured, lady." His voice was soft and lightly accented. "Severus tells me you are the foremost researcher in the British Ministry. An astounding accomplishment for one so young."

Hermione flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. "I'm honoured that Master Snape has expressed such a view." And she was. She wanted to grin at him and poke him in the ribs and demand " _Really?_ " in the worst Gryffindor way. But etiquette between Masters and those still studying their ancient craft had to be maintained. The ministry wizard was now openly glaring at her. Shit. "I'm sorry, gentleman, but my time here is not my own."

Severus followed her glance and the officious wizard paled. "I will speak to you later, then."

A smile twitched her lips. She bowed her head. "Masters."

She pushed into the crowds with a sigh. Would she still be doing this when she was ninety? Tottering about with a glass of wine, having her memory of long ago poked and prodded? A hideous thought.

And so her night began. Of fixed smiles; interrogations by witches and wizards who'd found themselves trapped on the continent during all that  _unpleasantness_ ; and long, cool stares as more than one set of hands encountered the sting of Severus' spell. It also made the newly started dancing easier to avoid. She was agreeing to talk to them, not to touch. Her spell was allowed. For now.

They'd pinned the Ministry down to the exact number of minutes that they had to endure their torture and Severus found her in her darkened corner when her hour was up. His long fingers traced a slow path down her spine and she arched into his ached-for touch.

"Weasley has been watching you for the past fifty seven minutes."

His breath whispered hot against the shell of her ear and her eyes closed. After the strained hour, everything about him was a hit of bliss. "He's free. Again."

Severus stiffened beside her. "How many times has be been dumped on his arse now? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

Hermione laughed softly. "Seven, including me."

"And each time, he thinks you'll take him back. What did you ever see in him, Granger?"

"He was always there. And Harry is gay."

"You should be more discerning."

Hermione looked up at him. Sparse candlelight warmed his pale skin, and made his impossibly black hair shine. The darkness of his eyes caught her, endless, intoxicating. Her mouth dried. Her attraction to him had been bubbling under for so long now and been driven to the surface by a single smile in a photograph. A smile he should give only to her.

Oh great Merlin and Nimue, she wanted him. Perhaps she always had. From the moment in Grimmauld Place when he had taken the glass of elf-made wine from her shaking fingers and suggested, in an almost velvet whisper, that they find a less crowded place...to talk. And perhaps –her belly swooped— it was more than simply physical want. She had always admired him. Always. His intelligence, his bravery and discovering his dark, biting humour only sweetened her view.

Dear gods, she was a first class idiot. She  _loved_  him.

She was officially in hell. Fuck.

* * *

 

Repello Tactio = repell touch (from Google translator)


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Severus could happily hex Ronald Bilius Weasley into next week.

Granger had been looking up at him in a way that had his body so fucking tight one touch from her and he'd see stars. Then Weasley bounced up to their secluded alcove, all sweat and beer and  _red_  and broke everything. It was his natural talent.

"Mione!"

Coldness swept over the woman and her shoulders tightened. She lifted her chin, sharp and belligerent. "Ronald."

"Come and dance with me." He grabbed her hand and yelped when the  _repello tactio_  cut across his fingers. "Why do you always cast that?" He smirked at her and his voice dropped low. "I  _know_  you like to be touched…"

A muscle jumped in her cheek and Severus' hands balled into fists. Was that supposed to be a seductive drawl? Weasley had no idea. Prick.

"I do."

She wormed her little fingers into Severus' own, turned so that she was pressed back to his chest and clasped their joined hands across the front of her boned corset. She tilted her head, very likely giving Weasley that sharp little grin she saved for those she truly despised.

"Ha, very funny, Mione. You and him." He snorted, but then he blinked and something in his eyes cleared. And hardened. Severus held back a smile. This was almost better than hexing him. Almost. "You…and  _him_?"

"Yes, me."

The words rumbled from Severus and the satisfaction in saying them was…unexpected. Granger clutched his fingers and he couldn't ignore the tremor that ran through her. What was going on? This charade was meant to deter the witches who spelled their hair red in a ridiculous attempt to ensnare him. Not for him to practically claim Granger in front of a persistently idiotic ex. But it felt strangely…right.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and enjoyed the mottled anger rising on the younger man's skin. No, not man. Boy. For all of his frankly surprising success on the professional quidditch pitch, Weasley was still far from mature.

"You prefer him? He's old, Mione and…and a deviant."

"Oh yes, deliciously so, I've discovered."

Ron shook his head. "This isn't you." His mouth turned down. "I'm going to report him. He's obviously slipped you something."

"Merlin's little apples." Granger ground out the curse. "Go  _away_ , Ron.

Ron's hands were strained fists at his side. "He's made you think you're friends. Then you started appearing together at these things. Now he's got you in his, in his  _bed_. It's not right, Mione. He's cursed you."

Severus let out a long sigh. The boy was  _beyond_  idiotic. "Can I hex him now?"

Hermione ignored his request. Her body stiffened and Severus hated that his chance to hold her was being stained by a brainless Weasley. Still, he could rest his chin, his jaw against her hair, and enjoy the cool, springy softness as she went about eviscerating her childhood friend.

* * *

"Did you have his concern before Amelia dumped you? Or has this intense worry leapt upon now you're single, yet again?"

Damn Ronald Weasley. He'd interrupted what appeared to be promising kiss. And was still there, a mass of raging ginger, when the one man she…she loved was wrapped around her. She needed that quiet moment. The few seconds to process being smacked upside the head with something so…momentous. And the dawning horror that she might have always loved him…when he had a heart bound irrevocably to a ghost.

She needed Ron gone. Perhaps she should allow Severus to hex him. But then that would cause an 'incident'…and they'd both lose any hard won privileges.

Ron spluttered. "You're like him now—"

"Mature?"

Ron's lip curled at her reply. "Nasty."

Hermione let her fingers trace a path over the back of Severus' hand, dipping over his knuckles. The urge to push his hand up, make him cup her breast twisted tension in her belly. She resisted the need to close her eyes, knowing that if she did, tears would bleed. It hurt. To have Severus, knowing she could have his friendship, even his body, but not all of him. Not the part that she suddenly ached for.

She focused that pain, that anger on driving Ron away.

"Then, by your own reasoning, you should leave me well alone." Her mouth formed a wry smile, one she'd seen on Severus numerous times. It deepened as Ron shuddered. "Like has found like."

Ron took a step closer and Severus straightened behind her. The war had ended three years before, but he was ever ready for a fight. She did admire that about him. And had to admit to herself she found it ever-so-slightly hot. No.  _Extremely_  hot.

"You never used to be like this."

Ron's tone had softened to 'wounded boy', his features easing, saddening. Oh, she hated that play. Mainly because she used to fall for it. Fresh anger bubbled in her chest.

"That was before you fucked witch after in  _my_  bed and said I was  _imagining things_."

"They were mistakes—"

"All  _nine_  of them? The nine I  _knew_  about?"

Fuck, she was becoming shrill. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pulled in and let out a long breath. They were gathering notice too. More than one of the partygoers was casting a surreptitious eye to their dark corner. She didn't want the odious little man from the Ministry to bustle up and whip away the equivalent of House points.

"Ron. For the last and final time, we will not be getting back together." Absolutely never. Regardless of how she felt about Severus. "Why you think we should is beyond me. We fought. We have nothing in common now that Voldemort is dead. You crave fame. I do not. You're away ten months of the year. You fought with me, tooth and nail, to try to stop my Potions apprenticeship with the Ministry." And it would be long while before she forgave him for  _that_  crime either. It was time to admit the truth she'd kept from him. He'd hurt her, but still they'd been friends before their ill-advised relationship. She couldn't spare his feelings anymore. "And frankly, our sex life was abysmal."

The blotched red of his face deepened. He flicked an annoyed glance at Severus. "It was not. It was good. Better than good. Brilliant."

Severus huffed a laugh.

Ron's mouth thinned. "It was. We just needed more experience. It was new to both of us… What?" He glared at Severus and Hermione resisted the urge to turn her head. Had he lifted a derisive, a disbelieving eyebrow?

Hermione doubted Severus would share their secret, but still she wanted Ron gone. She willed herself calm, the security of the man holding her aiding that. "There are plenty of witches here who would find you of interest." Though she had just declared their sex life dreadful… But then this was Ron. He would now double his shagging efforts simply to prove her wrong. Her chin lifted. "Severus and I will be leaving together."

"You weren't a virgin?"

Ronald Weasley and his selective hearing. "No, Ron, I wasn't."

"Who…?" His eyes darted from her to Severus and back again. "No. No you  _didn't_. With  _him_?" He staggered backwards. "That's disgusting. You fucked him first?"

Hermione glared at him. "Second, third and fourth too."

"Up to ten, I believe. It all started to merge..." There was a smirk in Severus' voice. "It was a  _very_  busy weekend."

"No." Ron was shaking his head, horror twisting his features. "I followed Snape into the same hole—"

Ron froze. Severus' wand dipped. He slipped his arm free from Hermione and she shivered at his loss. He edged closer to her stupid ex.

"That Granger let you touch her was her gift. And  _your_  honour." Severus growled the words into Ron's face. The petrified –both literally and figuratively— man's eyes darted down, up, away, desperate not to meet Severus' unflinching gaze. "Now, Mr Weasley, your pursuit of her is at an end. She has told you time after time that she does not return your  _affections_." The word was a sour bite. "I will not be…pleased if I hear that you continue to harass her. Is this understood?"

Ron whimpered, the sound little more than a squeak.

"Excellent."

Severus flicked his wand and the spell broke. Ron's legs gave out and he clutched at an abandoned chair to stay upright.

"You deserve each other. Mental. Both of you." And with that, Ron disappeared into the crowds.

Hermione laughed softly. "At least he won't share  _that_  piece of gossip with  _The Prophet_."

"He's a shit." Severus brushed a hand over her shoulder and she shivered. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." The excuse was out before she could stop it, but he knew her too well and for too long.

"Go. Freshen up. Give yourself a moment."

Severus rubbed his thumb along the line of her throat and Hermione stopped the languid moan that ached to escape. She wanted nothing more to find her moment of peace in his arms. To wind herself around his solid body, feel his strong arms encasing her and believe, for a single, precious second, that she could have him. That he could be hers. Completely.

"Wait for me?" She touched his jaw, her fingers trembling as they had that very first time.

He gave an oblique nod and Hermione dragged herself away from him. Blindly, she found a path to the ladies and stared at herself in a wide, candlelight mirror.

Her hair was mussed. She distinctly remembered Severus rubbing himself against the piled mess and the memory clutched her heart. Could he feel something beyond close friendship? Would it be that much of a leap? They enjoyed each other's company and bodies, after all. Could they try for more?

She flicked her wand and the spell righted some of the wildness of her hair. Another charm corrected the smudge of her make-up. Hermione drew in a long breath, her eyes flicking to the women who passed behind her. Gossip about their partners, or who they had their eye, on drifted over her.

Everyone had someone. Everyone, but her. Yet...her possible someone was waiting for her in a dark little corner of the crowded ballroom. No one had ever tugged at her heart, not like this. She loved him. Her useless heart wasn't so useless after all...it'd just be waiting for her to  _wake up_. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Damn it, her head was spinning with more than the wine, her emotions wild. She clutched the edge of the cold, white sink, leaning her body against it. This lack of control wasn't her, but this was all so new.

Should she wait to tell him? But how could she go to his bed knowing that she wanted more? That she'd been a blind fool? And she hadn't asked for exclusivity. Idiot! She  _couldn't_  watch him happily go off with another witch. She would risk their friendship with her declaration. Would even risk her heart and sanity if Severus rejected her…but she had to try. She  _loved_  him.

Willing courage into her every movement, she fought her way back into the ballroom and to their quiet alcove. But the shadows were empty.

Her heart lurched. He wasn't there. He hadn't waited… She should've said something, something  _more_  to hold him there. She'd never done this before and bloody Ron didn't count. She was shit at relationships.  _Shit_.

And then she saw him. A pain stabbed in her gut and she almost gasped. He was dancing, his arms around  _that_  witch. The one from the photograph. Dressed in red, auburn highlights caught in the soft candlelight, she was so elegant. She smiled up at Severus with shining eyes and he was smiling that smile.  _Her_  smile. Hermione pressed her lips together, denying the ache in her chest, her throat. But still a tear broke free. She wiped it away with shaking fingers.

Why hadn't she seen it before? The witch was a so much prettier version of  _her_. Maybe his heart wasn't tied to Lily Evans anymore…but Hermione had still lost him. A gold wedding band caught in the candlelight. Was he using her? Agreeing to fuck  _her_ , because he couldn't have the witch he truly wanted?

More tears fell. She had to get away. Get away now.

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

"Granger?"

She closed her eyes, a sob half-caught in her throat. Of course, he'd seen her leave. What sort of spy would he be without being aware of  _everything_?

Was she overreacting? Nothing felt…right. Was being in love this irrational? It was little wonder she'd not put herself through it before. Wine, Ron and the realisation that she loved Severus were smashing into her plan to tell him how she felt and seeing him with  _that_  beautiful witch. Gods, she was behaving as if she were a lovelorn idiot.

"Hermione…?"

He never called her that. Ever. But still she couldn't turn, couldn't face him. Her attention fixed on the shining green arch of tiles that formed a floo hearth. If she didn't look at him, then the possibility still existed that she was wrong. That the witch he kept smiling at was simply a friend. A relation. Anything other than that he wasn't already betraying her. A coward's path? Yes. But right then, she didn't care.

"Let's get you out of here."

And in a pained heartbeat, she was bundled up in smooth, warm dress robes that held the heavenly, ached for scent of cedar and myriad spices.

They spun through the floo network and into Severus' cosy little front room. He eased her onto the deeply sprung couch. A few quick flicks of his wand and the floo was blocked and a fire flickered in the grate. He pulled a heavy blanket around her shoulders.

"Tea," he murmured, before he disappeared into his kitchen.

Hermione stared at her hands that fisted around the soft, woollen throw  _she_  had bought him. Black naturally. She should go. Apparate out of there. But there was a good chance she'd splinch herself. Her thoughts were shot, scattered.

Would she ever have any luck with men? At all?

Severus returned and pressed a mug of steaming, milky tea into her cold hands. He was a black wall beside her, one she couldn't look at. "Drink."

She obeyed. It didn't ease the tightness in her chest, because it was perfect. He knew  _exactly_  how she liked her tea.

He sat beside her, his thigh pressing against hers. His fingertips skimmed her knuckles. "You're worth more. You shouldn't let him hurt you like this."

A bitter laugh broke from her and she closed her eyes. His touch burned her. Drove an ache hard into her belly. Fuck, she just needed it to go away and wanted their old easy friendship back. Her stupid, underused heart was ruining everything. "I should lock myself away in a laboratory somewhere and raise kneazles."

"Aspirations to be a crone?"

"Something to aim for. Why not?"

His thumb traced slow circles against the back of her hand. "Did I mention that hairy warts are so very…arousing?"

Hermione snorted a laugh. She risked looking up, to find him frowning, concern heavy in his dark eyes. The pain of wanting him was sharp in her chest. Even when she'd caught Ron naked,  _buried_  another witch, it hadn't ripped her open like this. The only thought that pulsed was that she wanted him. Just him. Just for herself. Perhaps for the last time.

"Take me to bed, Severus."

He blinked. Had she surprised the man who was totally unflappable? "I don't think—"

"Please?"

"You want me simply to hold you?" His throat worked and a line of red touched his pale cheeks. For a moment, he looked down. His hair shone in the candlelight and Hermione's fingers ached to comb through its fine length. "I would…"

"Make…" She pressed her lips together.  _Make love?_  No. "A fuck. We agreed."

His gaze narrowed on her at that word and something moved through his eyes she couldn't name. Tension tightened her every muscle and her thoughts tunnelled. She wanted only him. His skin, his heat, the cleverness of his hands and mouth, the hard pulse of his heart under her searching fingers. To look into the dark depths of his eyes and…imagine there was something there for her.

" _Please_ , Severus."

He eased the mug free from her fingers and placed it on a low table. He stood and offered his hand. She slipped cool fingers across his palm, pressing her lips together as he lightly gripped her shaking hand. She found her feet, the blanket sliding from her shoulders to pool on the couch. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and with that, she followed him up the narrow stairs to his bedroom.

The old, heavy door creaked open and a wash of magic lit candle sconces and started the quick blaze of a warming fire. A large four-poster dominated a room that held little else.

"We can stop. At any time."

Severus' voice was smooth and rich, the hint of worry there in its deepest layer. His hands brushed her shoulders and a whisper removed his spell. She shivered. She'd completely forgotten that no one else but him could touch her.

She wet her lips and whispered, "I want to feel you…everywhere."

Severus groaned, a soft huff of air against her bare shoulder. His mouth teased her skin. "Hermione…"

She clutched at the strong arms that circled her waist, ignoring the twist of heart. It was only the second time he'd used her name. And never at a moment like this. Not even when he came.

He eased the rich velvet from her shoulders with slow, stroking fingers, the whisper of a spell loosening the corseting and letting it fall and pool at her feel. He ran his hand down her bared spine and Hermione shivered.

"How shall I have you tonight, Hermione?"

She denied the ache in her chest, her throat and she lifted her chin. She wanted him to stop saying her name. It brought a level of unreality that stabbed at her. Hermione was the name a lover used. Suggesting an intimacy they wouldn't achieve. Another name whispered on the edge of her scattered thoughts, but that was a secret, shoved down deep, never to be looked at...

Her eyes shut. With her mind, her emotions wild and broken, she couldn't stop the desperately hidden secret bubbling up to the surface. The one she'd shielded from Severus. The dirty little fantasies that surrounded the use of 'Miss Granger' and 'Professor'.

But not once had that slipped. She'd made certain of it. That touch of…play would never cross into their friendship, into this arrangement. It was too personal. An ache throbbed between her thighs. Too wanted.

"Thoroughly," she murmured.

His thumb drew a line above the edge of her panties and she shivered. "Should I kiss you?"

He pressed the length of his body up against her back, the smooth wool of his frock coat warm and delicious. The prick of cool buttons along the length of spine tightened the coils of want low in her belly. She adored him naked. But dressed, dark, intimidating, her Potions Master, every inch the extraordinarily powerful wizard he was… He was irresistible.

His mouth dipped to her neck, fingers easing away her riot of curls. "Should I taste you? Bite you?" Large hands covered her hips, holding her hard against him. His voice was liquid smooth, deep, a weapon. "Find every little inch of skin that makes you gasp, and sigh, and scream…" His teeth grazed the curve of her shoulder. "Would you like that?"

"Yes…" The admission was pulled from her, her thoughts already melting into the moment. She wanted to lose herself, lose the pain, to pretend, if only for a little while. "That and more."

"More?" His fingers stroked across her mons and her breath hitched. "Such a greedy girl." He murmured a spell and the cool slip of magic vanished her panties. The added heat of his touch against her sex broke a gasp from her. His finger circled, sure, unrelenting and the tension in her flesh wrenched.

"So good. So wet. Just for me." His mouth teased across her ear, the heat of his breath and the low, decadent drawl making her heart pound. "My slightest touch and you fall apart, don't you, Hermione? My naughty girl."

She fell limp against him, only his strength, his touch holding her up. "Gods, Severus, make me come."

He growled against her skin. With his scent, his body surrounding her, the brush of rich wool, the silk of his hair and his clever,  _clever_  hands that knew her  _so_  well, Hermione's pulse rioted, her breaths quick and short. He was right. He could turn her to a gasping, moaning mess in mere moments.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

That question in  _his_  voice? Light splintered behind her crushed eyelids, her flesh straining, aching to flare with joy. "Yes…"

In a burst of magic she couldn't question, cool sheets found her hot flesh, Severus between her thighs. Naked. His delicious skin against his and almost, almost…

She groaned, arching against him as he sank  _deep_  nto her body. The first wild spirals of her release tore through her. She grabbed at him, clinging, wanting him, needing him in that fierce, untamed moment to be hers. Utterly hers.

"Always so tight, so hot." His words scorched her, his breath burning against her ear as he drove her hard. Every inch of her was wrapped around him. Hers. His teeth found her neck, the shift hit of pleasure and pain making her cry out. "I need to fuck you. Hard.  _Now_."

Hermione found his mouth, her own growled "Yes," fierce against his lips. The brutal clash of their bodies, hands tangling in hair, teeth and tongues battling, plied her with pleasure, thickening it, tightening it until—

She screamed his name, the blaze of burning joy searing every inch of her flesh, her senses. And Severus was with her, shuddering, losing himself in her, crying out. In that moment, he was beautiful. So beautiful…

The ripples of her release chased through her, the fading memory of total joy. Of being loved by the man she loved. Her chest tightened and reality crashed over her after her moment of bliss. Not loved. Fucked. And even then, was she simply a substitute?

A shaking finger drew around the lines of his mouth, tracing them for probably the last time. His lips twitched and for a moment she thought she saw something in his eyes. But it was just a trick from the flickering of the fire. His gaze was as unreadable as ever. There was nothing there for her. Nothing.

Hurt tugged in her chest. No, she couldn't so this. This...arrangement. She loved him. She should tell him, but her courage was lost.

Hermione pressed a trembling hand to her mouth and the scent of his skin taunted her. Pain twisted, her heart ripping, tearing and she wanted to cry out against it. Stupid to sleep with him. So  _stupid_. Sex wasn't love. She'd never find her happily ever after in it.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, Severus, we shouldn't have done that."

Hermione curled away from him, wrapping her arms around her knees. The sheets chilled against her hot flesh, and as her heart shattered, she couldn't stop the fall of tears.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

"Hermione?"

Severus eased her over to face him, his lips brushing hers and he pushed back the tangled mass of her insane curls from her face. His stomach lurched. She was crying. Silent, heavy tears spilled to slip across the tops of her cheeks and disappear into her wild hair.

He'd planned to go slow, to pleasure her, but then the way she melted in his arms, his every touch igniting her, he couldn't hold back. Didn't want to. He wanted to give her everything he was. Everything.

"Gods, love, did I hurt you?"

Her eyes crushed tight and she pressed a hand to her face, covering her nose and mouth. Her chest heaved. She shook her head. Severus pulled her too him and she sobbed brokenly against his chest. He would fucking  _kill_  Ron Weasley.

He pressed his face to her hair, the last hints of vanilla still clinging and ignored the ache burning a hole in his chest. She obviously still loved Weasley. Even after all the little shit had done, how he had spoken to her. Severus had hoped…

He'd been smiling at Arabella when it had hit him. That the pretty witch who had began to catch his eye the week before was an unfinished version of Hermione.

She was clever, but there wasn't that extra spark of brilliance. Funny, but no hint of the vicious edge that mirrored his own sense of humour. And her hair was simply…wrong.

Yes, the witch who had half-dragged him onto the dance floor was not worth one tenth of the witch he  _should_  have waited for. And then he caught sight of Hermione, crying, broken, probably calling him every name in hell. Some friend he was turning out to be.

In that moment, he'd wanted to pull her into his arms and promise that everything would work out well. Make her smile. Make her snort. See her look at him with want. For her to press her trembling little fingers to his jaw again and say that their suitable arrangement no longer suited. That she needed more. She needed everything.

But then there was no fool like an old fool.

Severus let out a long sigh. He was simply there as a friend and good for fucking. And hadn't he just proven that? She didn't want to be held by him, hadn't wanted sympathy when her heart was breaking. No, she'd wanted his hands, his mouth, his dick. Nothing more. As was his life, the woman he wanted had given her heart to someone else. Though Ron fucking Weasley was hardly an ideal choice.

Dark curses moved through his thoughts. Lucius loathed the boy as much as he did –something about Weasley debauching a young Malfoy cousin. Yes, Lucius was certain to be interested in a little touch of recreational correction. His lips quirked upwards. It would be just like old times…

Her sobs were easing and he stroked his fingers over her tangled hair. He pulled his thoughts back to her. "You're fine. I've got you." He pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. "Ready to pick out kneazles yet?"

She choked out a laugh. "Yes. Though it's Sunday. All the good kneazle shops are shut." Her little fingers stroked over his side, following the line to the hip. "I dragged you away from your dance partner."

Her touch was distracting, wanted. "Arabella Fitzsimmons. She's new to Lucius' potions research."

Hermione's fingers stilled on his hip. "Fitzsimmons?" Her breath burned against a nipple and sparked a new wave of need through him. His dick stirred. "Newly divorced…"

She was talking, not crying, so he carried on with the banal conversation. "In the middle of it. Her husband worked his way through the Holyhead Harpies and back again."

"Men are shits."

He laughed softly, and drew in another breath, scenting her hair. "That they are."

She eased back from him and he missed the warmth of her little body. Her gaze flicked around his face, never settling. What could she be nervous about? "I haven't…?" She wiped a hand across her reddened eyes. "This," she waved her fingers at his chest, "this, didn't come between you two, did it, Severus? Because I can't…" She sucked in a ragged breath and more tears spilled. "It wouldn't be fair."

"I had dinner with her last week. You probably saw it…in the paper..."

He stared at her. His heart thudded. Shit. She had seen him in the paper.  _In the paper_. With a woman that had a passing resemblance to her. And the next night she'd had him so fast he thought all his Christmases had come at once. Well, at least four of them.

 _Jealousy._ The absolutely delicious word whispered in the corners of his mind, pulling hope along with it. But then, he hadn't waited for her. Allowed himself to be dragged off by Arabella. A witch Hermione perceived as a  _rival_. A rare joy bubbled up in his chest. Gods, did she truly want him?

He pulled her half-resisting body back to him. He had hurt her in his ignorance. He would set that right. His chest tightened. His? Did she truly want to be his?

Her wild hair, tangled from sex, brushed against his chest. He would have said nothing if Hermione were truly caught by the idiot Weasley –who could now live to annoy another day— but the signs were she wanted  _him_. Why he couldn't fathom, but he was hardly going to turn her away.

He grinned against her hair. Fuck, he felt almost…giddy.

Severus drew in a breath and purposely shaped ice around his thoughts. He was Severus Snape for fuck's sake. Such a nasty piece of work did not do  _giddy_. The wild rush in his blood faded. A little. Enough so that his voice was calm, measured. "It went no further than dinner, Hermione."

"But you wanted…"

He stroked light fingers under her chin, urging her to look at him. His heart wrenched at the red and raw pain in her eyes. Did she believe anyone could stand in  _her_  stead? His voice was little more than a whisper, "She will not, and could never  _hope_  to be… you."

* * *

Hermione stared at him. And stared. Had he just said…? " _Me?_ "

His fingertip drew a slow line across her bottom lip, the simple touch almost magically soothing to her strained nerves. "I realised, quite suddenly, that I already had the witch I wanted." His finger curled away and she wanted to believe that she witnessed a slight tremor to his hand. "If she will have me."

Hermione half hiccupped, half sobbed and flung herself into his arms. "I will have you. And then have you again. You may need a bloody potion to keep up!"

His laughter caught in her hair. He squeezed her tight and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry for not waiting for you tonight. Arabella…"

Even as he held her, her heart twisted. She had come so close to losing him. "It would've gone somewhere."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "It would have gone nowhere. She is not you." He smiled against her skin and her heart pattered. "Luckily for me, I have this very jealous lover who pounced on me before she could strike. Taking me for herself."

Hermione drew back to look at him. His smile was smug, his dark eyes dancing. Oh, she loved that look on his face.  _Could_  love it. Freely. "So confident, Professor."

Severus blinked. Red topped his cheeks. His eyes shone. "Professor…?"

His rich drawl deepened the heat in her face.  _Fuck_. He had her all over the place. Her emotions wild and, obviously, her mouth working without the use of her brain. They were just starting out, their…relationship –she almost stumbled over the word, even in her thoughts— was only minutes old. She couldn't share her fantasy. Not that one.

"You used to be one. You used to be mine. It's—"

" _Yours_ , Miss Granger?"

Fire flashed under her skin and she gasped. She clutched at him, the throb to her flesh, sudden, involuntary.

And she thought he'd looked smug before. "Something you'd like to share…Miss Granger?" His voice was velvet, seductive, deadly. He was an utter bastard.

She groaned and buried her mortified face against his chest. Damn him. She gripped her courage, reminding herself that she loved him, and if he felt the same for her then maybe, just maybe, he would agree to this dirty little fantasy of hers. "It's always turned me on. Playing," she wet dry lips, "the idea of your playing the wicked professor."

"To your naughty schoolgirl?" His fingers traced a path down her spine, flickering fresh desire under her skin. His dick was smooth steel against her belly and his voice became sin itself. "Oh how very bad you are. Lusting after you professor."

Hermione shivered, fighting the need to grind herself against him. She found his gaze. "More than lust."

"So much more." His mouth took hers in a slow, delicious tasting that drummed her pulse in her ears. She mewled when he drew back. He lifted an imperious eyebrow, his gaze dark and…wicked. "I find this arrangement no longer…suits. We should make something more permanent, involving shared living spaces and certain…declarations. Do you agree, Miss Granger?"

Her heart was in her throat. Merlin's little green apples, he was asking her to marry him. He was, wasn't he? Dear gods…

She drew her shaking fingers down his sternum, light, her short nails a obviously a pleasure that hitched his breath. "I…I do, Professor." Her tongue caught between her teeth and her eyes held his. Dark. Wanton. Everything she wanted. Everything she loved. "Do you still have your teaching gown? I do love a nice bit of subfusc."

Laughter broke from him. "I ask you to marry me and you care only for my clothes. Wicked girl." He flipped her onto her back and she yelped. "I believe that cheek deserves time with the Potions Master."

Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair, silk soft, little more than ink in the flickering shadows of the small room. A happy sigh escaped as she cradled his hot, hard body against her own. Her thigh rubbed against his hip and she wiggled. She grinned up at his narrowed gaze. To play this game… It suggested an intimacy she could never risk before. Their  _mutual_  sudden desire for it was joyous.

Severus caught her wrists in his large hand and pinned them above her head. Involuntarily, she arched under him and his lips brushed hers. " _Very_  wicked, Miss Granger." His voice was a velvet purr that sparked heat deep in her belly. How had she managed without him, without this, without recognising that she loved him for so long?

"Yes, you'll serve a veritable raft of detentions  _directly_  under me."

His knuckles played across her sex as his fingers gripped his dick. He teased her. Stroking, pushing, but never quite…

"Gods, Severus,  _please_."

"Shameless girl, using your professor's given name." But further insult was lost in a low moan as he sank into her.

A gasp caught her at his sure stroke. "Only for you, Professor."

He stilled and dark eyes held her. "Indeed." The word was a growl. He drew her bottom lip, grazing it with his teeth. "You're mine…" He released her hands. "As I am yours."

Hermione whimpered and pulled him down into a kiss. "Mine." She pressed her forehead to his. "We should've done this three years ago."

A smile pulled at his lips. "We weren't ready then."

His reply pushed worry over her. She felt herself still so close to losing him. She fought the pained panic tightening around her heart. "And now? Now you're ready?"

"I am looking no further."

Her heart eased and fluttered. He'd proposed, she'd accepted, but this…? Having her words repeated back at her. The promise of just them, only them. The promise of faithfulness… He  _knew_  how much that meant to her.

Hermione denied the fall of yet more tears. She grinned up at him, her lips trembling. She pressed her hand to his jaw, its smooth warmth bleeding away all her doubts.

"You know." She rolled her hips and a soft groan escaped him. Her smile turned smug even as obsidian eyes held her. Hot. Fierce.  _Hers_. "I have been  _such_  a wickedly naughty girl, Professor. What will you do to correct me?"

"Everything I must. For as long as you'll have me."

And she lost the night to a delightfully depraved Professor Snape.

* * *

Hermione's eyes ached. A tentative touch with her finger found them swelled and sore. She groaned and rolled off her stomach onto her side. A smile tugged. The aches in the other parts of her body held more pleasant memories.

She hadn't been on a crying jag like that for, well, ever. The small amount of light leaking through the gap in the curtains was restfully dull and grey. At least it was Sunday and work couldn't drag her in.

"Hold still."

Severus' morning voice, rough and ridiculously sexy made her frown at him. He twitched a smile. "I was Head of House for almost two decades. I had to deal, more than once, with this sort of fall out." The cool whisper of a spell bathed her aching eyes and almost at once it eased. A second later, her tightened vision was clear. "All done."

Hermione let out a soft sigh and stroked a line along his prickled jaw. "Heartbreaker."

Severus closed his eyes. He tensed under her light touch. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Hermione."

 _Fuck_. "A joke, honestly, a joke." Her lips brushed his. "Everything conspired last night…and I've always been a little emotional." She snuggled against him, wanting his comfort, wanting to comfort him and simply loving the thought of the two ideas –Severus and snuggling— put together. She pressed a kiss to his to the underside of his jaw. "And without it, we could've remained oblivious." She shivered. "Scary thought."

"So." His muscles tenses under her arms and hands and she held her breath. Wanting, needing to believe that his wanting her hadn't been some insane declaration on his part, reacting to her emotional collapse. "Asking you to marry me wasn't too impulsive?"

Hermione pressed her lips together to deny the fresh onslaught of tears. She was sure he'd run off screaming if she cried on him again. "No, not too impulsive." She looked up at him, her grin so wide is made her cheeks ache. But she really didn't care. "Just about the right level, I'd say."

He curled her hair around her finger, his attention fixed on it before he met her gaze again. A rare warmth lit them, not edged with irony or sarcasm. "I want this us to be permanent. No misunderstandings. No doubts. Never again." He wet his lips. "You jammed yourself into my life. I don't want the pain or inconvenience of extracting you."

Hermione laughed and his lips twitched. She doubted she would ever hear sweet nothings from Severus Snape. But that was more than fine. He made her laugh and she knew what she meant to him. He had asked her to marry him. Was stating it again. "I don't want to be removed. Not at all. You're stuck with me. It would be just as annoying to me." She glanced up at the large four poster. "Plus you have the better bed."

"I do." There was that smug smile again. "Yours would not hold up to rigorous testing."

She pressed her face to his chest and squeezed him till he grunted. "You are perfect for me. In every way." She willed herself finally to admit something not spoken the night before. "And I love you."

He sighed and pressed a kiss to her temple. "And I you." He curved a smile against her skin. "Though I may love you hair more. Or it could be a tie. Only time will tell."

"Evil man."

Severus returned her squeeze. "Always."

 


End file.
